


Speaking Eyes

by sinnerman



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25190629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinnerman/pseuds/sinnerman
Summary: (You may have seen this on AdultFanfiction.net in the past.  I changed my name, but the text remains the same.)Eyes say so much.Suggestive, not explicit.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Speaking Eyes

**Jealousy**

In the few years of his life, Timothy Drake had seen great evil, and great good. He had known evil men and seen them do evil things; he had seen great men do good deeds for good reasons. One of these men was his hero, a hero he shared with a million other people in the plagued city of Gotham: the Batman.

Bruce Wayne.

That was his name; the man inside the mask. Tim loved and worshipped Bruce Wayne with all that he had. Every ounce of loyalty and devotion that he could wring from himself, he gave to Bruce and to the Batman. In his admittedly small world, Bruce could do no wrong.

Not yet.

In his life, Tim had never seen great love, or great jealousy. Until now.

He crouched at the top of the grand staircase in Wayne Manor, hiding in the deep shadows there, and stared transfixed at the two men below.

Bruce Wayne, calm. A gentleman. Riding out the storm of rage and hate being directed at him with more patience than Tim had thought any man capable of.

Dick Greyson. Tim didn’t have the right words to describe Dick at this moment. If he had been able to understand the richly sibilant words that Dick was screaming in his fury, he might have been able to use a few of them.

The worst part of it for Tim was that he knew why Dick was so angry. It was his fault that the former Robin was jealous and angry.

It never occurred to Tim to think that Bruce might be somehow to blame, or that he should take his share of the guilt.

Not yet.

Tim stared, sickly fascinated in his guilt, at Dick Greyson. He had never realized just how wild and savage an angry person could be. Or at least, how angry and savage Dick could be. He had always envisioned the former Robin as a quiet young man, serious and studious. Not like this. Never like this.

“How could you? In my house, Bruce? In our house? Did you think I wouldn’t know? Did you think I wouldn’t care? Do you think I don’t love you anymore, is that it? You sent me away! You told me to go! You made me get my own place! You told me I needed to broaden my horizons!

“Did you really think that I would ever find anyone to replace you? How could I? After I gave myself to you?

“Why are you doing this to me? What have I done? Why did I trust you?”

Something cracked in Bruce at this point, and he moved forward, but Dick pulled away, still screaming in his wild fury.

“What have I done? How could you do this to me?”

Bruce finally managed to grab hold of Dick, and was holding him by the shoulders. “Please, Dick, listen to me – ” Bruce’s voice was icy calm, in a way that Tim had never heard before.

Dick struggled wildly without answering until Bruce finally let him go, and he ran to the door.

“Dick - if you leave now, it’s because you’re not coming back. You know that.” Bruce’s voice was steely and uncompromising.

Dick paused, his hand on the door, before the moment passed, and he sank to the floor, sobbing wildly. “No, no no, Bruce, please, _me hamava Tut_ , please, no....”

Tim could barely make out the words through Dick’s sobbing.

Bruce walked over to him, and pulled Dick up into his arms. “Dick,” he whispered into the young man’s hair. “I won’t let you leave me, not like this. Come here, and listen to me.”

“ _Me hamava Tut_ , _me hamava Tut_. Oh, God, Bruce, why me? What are you doing to me?”

Bruce half-carried Dick into the sitting room, and Tim couldn’t see them anymore.

 _Me hamava Tut_. He wasn’t positive what the strange words meant, and he couldn’t even guess what language they were. But he had a good idea of what Dick was trying to communicate to Bruce, from the tone of Dick’s voice and the way that he kept repeating it.

They were the same words that Tim had been crying out last night.

_I love you._

**Memory**

If I opened up my chest and pulled out my heart, it would be Dick Greyson. If I feel sad, or happy, anything except that hollow sense of satisfaction from taking another piece of scum off the streets, it's because Dick Greyson gave me my heart.

That’s not how I saw it at the time. How things change. How things stay the same.

I remember the first time I was on the receiving end of Dick’s rage. I don’t remember the beginning; in fact, I don’t remember any of it until Dick - such a little thing, I remember, all skin and bones, with skin just a touch too dark to fit in, and a mop of soft, wild dark hair that was never any color but black.... Until Dick yelled at me that I was a heartless Gadje, that I was made of ice, and that he hoped that he would never become like me.

I stepped back in surprise, I remember, and sensing weakness, he drove home the attack, screaming in his wild fury about how cold and cruel I was. I don’t know what he saw in my eyes, but suddenly he stopped, just as suddenly as he had begun, and he threw himself at my feet, sobbing that he was sorry, that he didn’t mean any of it.

I had no idea what to do. Here was a twelve-year-old child who had saved my life, sobbing hysterically because he thought he had hurt my feelings. Perhaps he had.

I knelt down, and tried to get him to calm down. But he wouldn’t. Or I didn’t know how. There was nothing for it but to pick him up, and carry him upstairs. He clutched me desperately around the neck, wailing uncontrollably. I walked to the door of his room, but he held me tighter, trying to say something I couldn’t understand between his tears.

Dick Greyson, at twelve, felt things more strongly and more deeply than I ever have in my entire life.

I took him to my bedroom, and sat down on the giant master bed with the little boy still cradled in my arms. He was sobbing a little more quietly now.

“It’s all right, Dick. Calm down,” I tried again. He was taking ragged breaths, trying to obey me, but got the hiccups instead. I pulled off his shoes, and put him down gently. He immediately wriggled underneath the covers, and hid his face in one of the pillows.

I brought him a glass of water. “Drink this.”

His eyes were wide in his dark little face with some emotion that I couldn’t read; and swollen and dark with tears. His long dark lashes were clumped together with moisture, and he was sniffling quietly. He looked ... beautiful.

That I remember clearly.

I stroked his hair, and whispered something soothing.

Dick tells me that I told him to sleep.

“You won’t leave me, will you?” he whispered hoarsely. “You won’t - you won’t send me away?”

“No, of course not!” I said fiercely. “We’re partners, remember? You’re not leaving unless you want to leave. Go to sleep, Dick.”

I leaned over, meaning to kiss him on the forehead - for the life of me, I don’t know why. I was never an affectionate person in that way. Had I somehow sensed that was what he wanted? Or had I been so caught up in his emotions that I realized that only a physical show of my affection would convince him?

He tilted his head up, and his soft lips, salty with the remains of his tears, met mine. I didn’t pull away - again, for the life of me, I don’t know why.

That’s a lie. But I tell myself that to help keep my mask of sanity in place.

It was not the kiss of a child. It was a passionate, fiery thing, like Dick himself. It was a kiss of adoration, of worship, of need - on both sides.

Part of me felt like a monster. But it was Dick who pulled me closer, it was Dick who pulled his lips away from mine and kissed my face and dug his little hands into my shoulders and pulled me down on top of him.

“No,” I heard myself whisper, but I knew that Dick hadn’t heard me say it. I kissed his forehead, as I had meant to do originally, ran my fingers through his hair, and then kissed him on the lips again.

“ _Me hamava Tut_ ,” he whispered, and more words in Romany that I didn’t understand. “I don’t want to go, Bruce, I want to stay with you forever.”

I finally pulled away from him. He lay back on the pillows, so small and dark. He was still lying on my arm, and he shifted to be more comfortable, and closer to me.

“Go to sleep, Dick.” My voice sounded as if it were coming from miles away.

He smiled, just a curve of his sweet lips, and lay himself against my chest and drifted off to sleep.

**Sin**

The last few tears trailed down his handsome dark face as the storm finally passed. Dick was kneeling on the floor, in his old familiar pose with his head resting on Bruce’s knees and Bruce’s large, strong hands entwined in his hair. Bruce was sitting in the large chair by the fire, which had finally died out.

“Are you cold?” Bruce asked.

Dick shook his head, and pulled away, kneeling before Bruce as if in supplication. “I’m just gonna go, I think. I’m sorry I lost my temper – you know how I get.”

Bruce nodded. “I know.”

Dick rose, ever graceful, but his stance was that of a hurt animal – or a beaten one. He bent down to kiss Bruce in farewell, and his lips lingered hungrily. “I still love you -” He could see Bruce about to protest, but kept talking, not giving the older man a chance to speak. “I still love you. I will always love you, Bruce. It was never about age for me - don’t lie!” he burst out, then forced himself to calm down. “For God’s sake, Bruce, stop lying to yourself. Just this once. If not for God, then for me. I was there, Bruce. I know what I saw - and what I see now,” he said bitterly.

Bruce looked away, unwilling to answer.

“It was my own fault,” Dick whispered bitterly. “I wanted you to be something - something that you’re not.”


End file.
